Esperarle
by Lexie Jayne
Summary: Nine years, always running and all they have left is hope ... (Zack and Jondy)
1. Esperarle

AN: Yes, a new WIP. I must be mad. But I really wanted to post this. I started it away ago and lost interest but I was  
  
reading Gleenan's/Gone's fic "Glances At The Orion" today (most incredible fic. Go read it) and I just felt the need to   
  
finish this.  
  
Reviews "make me feel all glowy inside".  
  
---  
  
September 11th 2011  
  
----  
  
He found her on a busy Manhattan street, picking-pockets of business men - and women - for loose change.  
  
She didn't look how he remembered. But then, his memory of Jondy was always obscured by Max.   
  
Jondy's not how he remembers her. She's taller and skinnier. Her hair has grown over the last two years; but then, why wouldn't it? It's light brown, just covering her barcode, and loosely curled and it looks so soft.  
  
She's sitting on the stone steps, counting the money she's stolen, wearing grimy clothes that are at least a size too big for her. There's a baseball cap obscuring her face but Zack knows it's her. He knows her scent; it's like a photograph on his memory.  
  
"Jondy." Zack stands before his younger sister, looking down at her.  
  
She looks up, twisting the baseball cap around so he can see her face. And he wants to hit something, to kill something. Her left eye is swollen and there's a cut from her left temple to her chin, dried blood smeared on her cheek.   
  
But she smiles when she's looks at him. Her whole face lights up and Zack feels pained. He's never had anyone look at him like that before, and he's never looked at anyone, least of all Jondy, like that.  
  
Zack's different to how Jondy remembers him. He's taller now. She's eleven and he's almost fifteen. He's a lot taller now, and just bigger. Children have soft faces, Jondy knows. But Zack's is harder now. He looks different. Good different. He's wearing jeans and a leather jacket that are too big for him. Jondy makes a mental note later to steal his jacket and sell it.  
  
"Zack!" She jams the money in her pocket and throws her arms around him, resting her cheek against his leather jacket. The fact that she got beaten up last night and that she hasn't had any dry place to sleep in three weeks doesn't matter. Zack's here and he's going to save her.  
  
"Who hit you?" he pulls back, concern lighting his eyes. He holds her chin gently and exams the cut.  
  
"Some guy," Jondy shrugs. "I was off guard." She dismisses his concern, and looks up at him. "You're okay."  
  
Zack nods, refusing to get emotional. But Jondy looks so tiny and so… he doesn't hug her. He doesn't hug anyone.  
  
"Come on, Jondy. I'll buy you dinner," Zack says stiffly, leading Jondy onto the street.  
  
And tonight, when he's made sure she's asleep, he'll find the person who hit her and kill him slowly.  
  
---  
  
He didn't stay with her. She may have looked fragile and delicate and like… like a doll, but Zack always pushed that thought away, but she was going to be okay on her own. He left her money and a change of clean clothes. She stayed asleep in the bed at the motel, and for only the briefest second did he worry about her.  
  
Then he left.  
  
---  
  
AN: I hope you liked it. If readers like this, I might add to it. Make me glow - review! ;) 


	2. Ribbon

AN: Sorry for the wait, I have exams and lots of assignments. I hope you enjoy this chapter :) Please let me know if there's anything you'd like to see in this series.  
  
---  
  
May 18th 2012  
  
---  
  
Jondy sat on the roof of the building she was staying in, watching the sky. Stars had always fascinated her at Manticore, after she realised that the stars didn't stop at the Manticore boundary fence, like she had to.   
  
And now, sitting in the grime and filth of New York City, the stars seemed clean and safe and they promised her something. Like maybe she would make it to her thirteenth birthday. Maybe even her fourteenth, so she'd almost be as old as Zack…  
  
Jondy chastised herself. No, if she was fourteen, Zack would be eighteen. He'd be a man, then. Jondy wondered what happened to men at Manticore. The only men there were guards and doctors and Lydecker.  
  
Jondy dangles her legs over the ledge, looking down twelve stories. She wonders if she could jump that far and still land on her feet. Max always used to land on her feet. Jack was the only one who couldn't.   
  
Jondy sits, watching the sky. New York wasn't what she had hoped for back in Manticore. At Manticore, it seemed almost frivolous and such as easy city. Now she was a part of it, Jondy knew that New York was hard and complex, a city that lost it's soul sometime before she was born.  
  
Jondy think about souls. She wonders if she has a soul. She wonders if a soul is a good thing you must earn, or a bad thing you were given and want to get rid of.  
  
She wonders if Zack and Lydecker and Eva have souls. And what happened to Eva's when Eva died. Jondy doesn't understand the things, like souls and love, that they talk about in the books she found. Or maybe she does, but doesn't like what she reads.  
  
She's different now; her hair is light brown and loosely curled to her shoulders. Like caramel or something. Having long hair is still a novelty; washing it and brushing it and putting ribbons in it. Hats still amaze Jondy; why cover up your hair? But then, she never leaves her baseball cap behind. It means that the men that accost her on the street can't see her eyes.   
  
She's scared one day that Lydecker will be one of those men, and he'll see her eyes and take her back to Manticore. Without Zack or Max or Eva. That thought makes her cold and then she starts to work out how long since the day Zack found her. Eight months and seven days. That makes her feel colder. Maybe Zack's dead too. Jondy doesn't like to think that she's the only one left. That makes her cry.  
  
But she's not the only one, is she. There's more of them out there, Zack said so. But she doesn't know who and she doesn't know where, which makes it worse. Because she's not alone, but she is.   
  
It's getting colder up here and Jondy knows she should go inside, to the apartment Zack gave her, otherwise the seizures will start. She's almost run out of money, and she can't be milk or tryptophan anymore.  
  
He's been waiting awhile. Almost an hour, which is a lot of time to Zack. It took him an hour to leave Tinga to get to Brin and move her to where Zane was before Lydecker got to Brin.   
  
The door swings open and she's there, before him. And Zack isn't surprised very often; on the contrary, Zack doesn't like surprises. But Jondy surprises him, and this is the first surprise he's ever warmed to.  
  
Her hair is long now, shoulder length. And she's wearing a skirt - something old and once blue, that falls to her ankles - and an old knit sweater. And the baseball cap is on backwards, like the day he found her.  
  
She still looks fragile and delicate.  
  
"Zack." She's troubled by something and Zack wants to reach out and ask her what's wrong, and if he can help. But he doesn't know how. He's sixteen and she's twelve and the only thing they have in common now is fear. Fear instead of live ordinance drills, or Escape and Evade.   
  
"Jondy."  
  
She stands against the door, her hands behind her back, watching him carefully. "Why are you here?"  
  
"I came to make sure you're okay," Zack replied, taking a step towards her.  
  
"You left me alone in a motel room, Zack. You didn't even tell me you were leaving," Jondy replied, her voice quivering a little. She doesn't tell him she waited four days in that motel room, hoping maybe he'd come back.  
  
"Jondy," Zack says, tiredly. He's had this conversation with all of them so far.  
  
  
  
She ducks her head, almost in submission. "How long are you staying?" She doesn't look at him.  
  
"I'll leave tomorrow night," Zack replies, almost like a peace offering. Jondy looks up at him, hope lighting her eyes. Zack hates the way she looks at him, like he's her saviour, her everything… hell, maybe even her older brother.  
  
"Did you… have you found Max?" Jondy blurts out as Zack takes off his leather jacket and hangs it over a chair. "Is she okay? Does she hate me?"  
  
Her eyes are full of hope and for just a second, Zack wants to hold her and protect her and kill anyone who tries to cause her pain. But he reminds himself Jondy doesn't need protection. She is meant to be someone else's protection…  
  
"Jondy…" Zack begins and her face falls. "I can't tell you who got out. It's a safety risk."  
  
Jondy nods. Zack hates how meek and silent New York has made her and wants to take her to Krit and Syl and make her laugh and smile.   
  
"I haven't got any money left," Jondy says clearly as Zack goes to the kitchen.   
  
Zack knows. Before she got back, he checked. She has a gun under her pillow, with the safety on. She's run out of tryptophan and milk, and she's reading far too many trashy romance novels to fill in her day. The television is tuned to reruns of sitcoms and the radio to breezy pop music that makes Zack doesn't understand. There's no food or drink, and he wonders how long it's been since Jondy had some tryptophan. Or since she had something to eat.  
  
"I'll go out and get something after I have a shower," Zack replies. "There's something for you in my jacket." A look flits across Jondy's face, and Zack knows that look; it's a look that's been on each of his siblings' faces - his jacket is not safe with the others. To them, it's a nice piece of clothing that will fund their next whim…  
  
Jondy nods. And reaches for the jacket. It's worn to the perfect stage and Jondy wonders what Zack would do to her if she tried to sell it on the street.   
  
Her hands meet something smooth and almost like paper. A thick wad of money, tied with a ribbon. Rent, food and tryptophan money. Jondy pulls the ribbon off the money, looking at Zack, surprised. He's not one for sentimental things like ribbons.  
  
"From Tinga," Zack replied simply. "Don't you touch my jacket." He vanishes into the bathroom.  
  
Tinga. A ribbon from Tinga. Jondy perches on the couch and strokes the ribbon. So smooth and pale blue. She wonders if Tinga intended it for her or maybe for Brin. Maybe Tinga meant for Zack to give it to Brin but Brin didn't make it, so Zack gave it to Jondy…  
  
Doesn't matter, really. Jondy goes into her bedroom and puts the money, with the ribbon tied around it, in her bathrobe pocket. Tinga's out and she's okay.   
  
And Zack told her that.   
  
Zack watches Jondy read later on that night and he has remind himself that he has to leave her behind again and that she'll be okay. She's just like the others. 


	3. Retreat

AN: A third chapter to tide you over till Friday (which will hopefully be the next update.) I've got a plan shaping up in my  
  
head for this fic. This is sort of setting the Post Pulse scene and such. I'm honestly not really convinced this is a good chapter,  
  
so let me know. Also, if you'd like to see something in this series, let me know. I hope you enjoy chapter three.  
  
---  
  
November 1st 2012  
  
---  
  
She didn't want to have to come here. They scare her, terrify her to the very soul of her being. If she has a soul. She still hasn't worked that out yet. She wants to be home, reading a book in from of the window. But she is here and Zack ordered her to be here. She will not go home.  
  
It's funny having a place to call home. She knows she shouldn't get attached. That's bad. She'll put her guard down and something bad will happen. Maybe it is good for her to be here; at least she'll be on her guard.  
  
Where is she?  
  
At school.  
  
Zack suggested it before he left last time and somehow, in Jondy's mind, the suggestion became an order, because all Jondy wants to do is please Zack. It's her life mission and until Zack tells her he's proud of her, she won't stop trying.  
  
School intrigues Jondy. She's seen shows on television about school. Pretty girls in expensive clothes being smart and happy. Nice, happy teachers laughing and sometimes falling in love with their protégés. It seems like a very far away place to Jondy and she cannot connect the schools she sees on the television to this dim, crumbling brick building. But she has a little bit of hope left.   
  
Zack knows what school is like. He sometimes even tries to go to school. He knows it will keep the X5s out of trouble, maybe teach them to blend in more and make them a little bit Ordinary. And he worries about Jondy spending so much time alone. If Max was with her, maybe she'd be better. He knows he shouldn't worry about Jondy so much, but he does.   
  
Jondy sits on the hard plastic chair outside the principal's office and swings her legs. She doesn't know yet, that school Post Pulse is different to television school. There is no money for schools anymore. And the classes are too full, the teachers are underpaid and overworked and no one cares if you're there or not. Every second person has a weapon to protect their lunch money or new bag. In ways she wants to forget, Jondy will fit in.  
  
The Principal doesn't see a lonely twelve year old sitting outside her office. She sees another street kid, probably being forced into school by a harassed parent who is sick of seeing the police about her daughter.  
  
Jondy doesn't know why, but she keeps promising to do her best and be good and finally the principal's resolve crumbles and Jondy is allowed into the school.  
  
Jondy feels an almost childish glee. She remembers lessons at Manticore; six rows of five, the flashing screen. Sometimes teaching them languages or mathematics or history or the details of a mission. Jondy misses this blank uniformity.  
  
This class is different. Mathematics, Jondy realises blankly as she stands in front of forty three aggressive faces. They don't look kindly on strangers. She isn't scared or apprehensive, she just is. Desks are jammed around the room and kids slouch, tossing each other notes or talking. The teacher is silently copying notes up onto the blackboard for the benefit of no one.  
  
Jondy sits down, next to the window and looks outside. A jungle of buildings jerk up from the concrete and metal playground. Jondy feels something sour in her stomach. This is Manticore for Ordinaries. Jondy escaped Manticore. She wants to escape this place too.  
  
The teacher asks questions in a flat monotone to specific students. Jondy matches names to faces as the teacher says them. She jumps a little when her name is called and the class titters a little. She answers one question, right, two questions, right, three, four, ten… the teacher stares at her. Jondy isn't concerned; she remembers Lydecker teaching her, Max, Krit and Jace this off flashcards before they moved to the barracks. It's easy.  
  
The other children look at her with dark glances. She's too smart for them. The teacher is shocked she knows so much. Jondy wishes she'd made a mistake but too bad now. Anyway, she was designed not to ever, ever make mistakes.   
  
The teacher leaves the classroom silently and Jondy turns back to the window. Something hard hits the back of her head and Jondy whips around to see who, what, why… Dark glares from both girls and boys. She doesn't understand… didn't she get all the questions right?  
  
The teacher comes back and there's no more angry looks. Jondy won't be staying in the seventh grade. She'll be moved to the ninth grade, she's just so smart. Somewhere in her mind, Jondy knows this is meant to be a good thing, but it just makes her feel sick. Why do the Ordinaries make mistakes? Don't they like getting things right?  
  
What makes something right and something wrong?  
  
Maybe the ninth graders will be better.   
  
For the first class it is. She's the cutie, the sweetheart, the little angel. Every question fired at her is answered correctly without missing a beat, like some sort of game. Jondy knows behind the cheerful laughter and jokes, they're testing her. She doesn't know what for, but she answers their questions the only way she knows how; the right way. The teacher thinks she's funny and very clever, but half way through the lesson, when the teacher falters and Jondy corrects him, he calls her names under his breath. Jondy just slumps in her seat. She feels like a toy, a pet meant to preform tricks on command.  
  
It's okay until the third class. And it's over before it's begun. Jondy's paging through a textbook, remembering her old Manticore lessons when someone is standing in front of her. Saying things about her she doesn't understand. Maybe Ordinaries speak a different language to X5s. Jondy thought that they all spoke the same, but Jondy doesn't understand this boy. But she knows the look in his eyes and his body language. He's attacking her. Defence. Jondy knew defence.  
  
His hand shoots out to punch her and Jondy ducks easily, her left leg shooting out and kicking him in the stomach. He doubles over, scratching out at her and actually scratching her cheek. Jondy hisses, like the cat she is, and her fists fly. He's cowering on the floor and Jondy's gone, out the window.   
  
She walks the long way home, holding her hand to her cheek to stop the thin trickle of blood running down her cheek. She can't ever go back to that place. The dark, dirty buildings, the wrong answers and the boy she can't understand.   
  
For a second she pauses, wondering what Zack will say when he finds out what happened. Maybe… maybe this is being an Ordinary. Trying something and doing it wrong and retreating. Maybe that's what Ordinaries do.   
  
She goes home.  
  
Zack won't turn up for three more weeks yet. Jondy will find the public library - or what's left of it - in two days and she'll relish the new, unread books and what's left of the Internet and all the information she can memorize.  
  
And when she finally tells Zack what happens at school, he blankly nods and turns to leave. He's proud of her for trying. He wants to tell her how proud of her he is for coming to New York and living and just trying to be Ordinary. But he doesn't. He's only as strong as his weaknesses. And Zack resolves that Jondy will not be his weakness and he leaves her alone with her books and worries.  
  
He'll be back sooner than he needs to. 


	4. Technicolour

AN: I apologise for this chapter taking so long, but I had exams and now I've got the flu. My motivation fled me. But I'm back and  
  
it's all good. I hope you like this chapter, and all reviews are beloved and adored.  
  
----  
  
March 29th 2013  
  
----  
  
Jondy sat cross legged behind the grey scratchy sofa, a book in her lap. Her hair was in a long braid down her back, she wore a slate blue nightdress and socks. Lying beside her was a small pile of books and a gun.   
  
She likes sitting behind the couch. It protects her. It sounds strange, but Jondy feels almost safe behind this wooden frame, covered in scratchy material. Maybe that's because it's where Zack sleeps when he stays over. Well, when Jondy isn't sleepy, he sleeps in her bed and it still smells like him - leather and gun powder and something uniquely Zack - but sometimes, Jondy is tired and Zack would never share Jondy's bed without Jondy offering and Jondy doesn't know how to make an offer like that to Zack; Zack is strong and unbreakable, she can't fathom him needing more sleep than her.  
  
She likes reading the books from the library. She borrows as many as she can, and reads them over and over again, drifting in and out of stories, not remembering what she saw on television and what she read. She wishes she was like the girls in the books who end up with their prince. It didn't matter than Jondy thought most of the men in the books were spineless and pathetic; the girls ended up happy and safe and that's what Jondy wanted.  
  
She stayed there all night, completely focused on her book. She spent most of her days in this apartment, venturing out to get food or go to the library. Some days, she'd just sit, absorbing book after book, without moving.  
  
Tonight, she turns the pages slowly, absorbing every detail of the book. She barely notices time passing. By the time she does come out of her daze, it's early morning. Three books. Three different stories about people who don't even exist. Jondy wonders what existence truly is. Is it living and breathing and seeing and hearing? Or is it something divine, effecting something, changing something? Is it like living or better? Positive, negative or neutral?  
  
She showers quickly; in this building, the hot water is a distant memory by 7 a.m. It's just past 6 now. There are people walking in the street, Jondy can here them. Not many, but enough. She gets dressed slowly, methodically - skirt, sweater, socks, shoes and baseball cap over her long hair; her hair is getting a lot darker now.   
  
She always went out really early, before the school children were in the streets. She never went out late at night, because of the drunken men who'd hide in the alley beside her building, and wait for young girls like her. Some nights, Jondy could hear the screams for help from the girls in the alley but knew she couldn't help; Ordinary thirteen year old girls do not save other girls from attacks. If she went down to help the girl in the alley, Lydecker would know, somehow.   
  
She goes out, into the light, the new day. Something about early morning; the sunlight feels young, yet old. People look at her with blank looks. Jondy is hanging around for no reason. She's going to get herself breakfast and then go home and read.  
  
The diner. A place Jondy does go a lot, really. For her, at least. It's an old fashioned place, with black and white checkerboard lino, booths with red leather seats and mismatched stools at the counter. All the waitresses are older than her, and wear short red and white uniforms, with hair dyed either platinum blonde or cherry red to match their uniforms. They smoke and laugh and tell each other about their plans to go to California. Jondy came to this diner a lot, and none of the waitresses had gone to California yet. She doesn't know why and wonders they are waiting so long to go to California.  
  
She goes up to the counter and orders a strawberry milkshake. Jondy doesn't drink things for their taste or their nutritional value; she drinks them for their colours. Nine years of her life dedicated to white milk (yellow if they were unlucky), black coffee and clear water. The colours of drinks in the Outside amazed Jondy beyond belief; the luminous oranges, reds, blues and greens of soft drinks. The deep, thicker colour of juices and, Jondy's favourite, the pastel colours of milkshakes. The logic of milkshakes had long escaped her - why would anyone whip milk around?  
  
She sits at a booth, watching people hurry past the long windows of the diner, on their way to work, on their way to completing their lives…  
  
"Here you are, doll."  
  
Jondy turns around slowly and looks up at the waitress. The waitress wouldn't have noticed that Jondy has slipped a knife onto the seat next to her; one of her hands is gripping the knife so hard, Jondy can almost feel it bending.  
  
"Thank you, ma'am," Jondy replied dutifully, sliding the milkshake closer to her and looking at the pink colour. Why did Ordinaries bother making drinks so pretty when the rest of the world was so awful?  
  
"You come in here quite a bit. Shouldn't you be in school, darlin'?" The waitress eyes Jondy carefully. "Need to get an education so you can get a classy job."  
  
Jondy shakes her head and sips her milkshake. She doesn't offer any more information to the waitress. The waitress shakes her head, sliding into the booth opposite Jondy.  
  
"Don't think your mama want you hanging out here so much, darlin'," the waitress said. "Even if you don't go to school, don't think she'd want you hanging round down here."  
  
Jondy shrugs and sips at her milkshake.  
  
"Jondy."  
  
She whips around, her grip on the knife tightening. Zack. Zack's standing there, looking out of breath and annoyed. And older. Much older. His face is sharper and his clothes fit his body now… and he's wearing his leather jacket. Slightly more worn now. He looks exhausted and worried and Jondy wants to hug him and ask him what's wrong. Sometimes, Jondy writes letters to Maxie, telling Maxie all about the bad stuff in her life. All those letters are in a paper bag under her mattress, with Tinga's ribbon and the last of the rent money. Those letters make Jondy feel better, even though she knows Max will never read them.  
  
Zack stands before Jondy. She looks worn. But then, New York does that to an adult. She's still a child. He has to remind himself of that; she's only thirteen, only thirteen, when he looks into her eyes. She looks older and younger at the same time. Defiance, concern and that old 'Jondy' look that Zack knew. Her hair is thicker and darker; maybe she dyed it. Brin dyed her hair with blue streaks, making her a liability. Zack made her dye it back.   
  
"We have to go now," Zack says flatly, reaching into his jacket pocket and handing the waitress some money. "We're only a few hours ahead."  
  
Jondy bites her lip and slides out of the booth, following Zack out of the diner. Just before she leaves, she turns around and calls out, "Thank you. I hope you have a nice time in California."  
  
It'll be years before Jondy realises California is a waitress's paradise; a dream they'll never get to. And the waitresses in California dream of New York. One day soon, Jondy will be one of those Californian waitresses..  
  
Zack half-drags Jondy back to her apartment, throwing Jondy's clothes into a bag.   
  
"Have you got anything that says you're X5?" Zack half grunts. "Anything incriminating?"  
  
Jondy nods slowly, lifting up her mattress and pulling out the paper bag of letters to Max. Letters to a dead sister. Zack barely glances at the letters, handing them back to Jondy. He hates that he didn't save Max. He hates that Jondy still hurts so long after Max's death. He wants to hold her and talk to her and tell her that one day it will be 'all good'.   
  
Jondy takes the letters out to the stove. Slowly, she lights each one, dumping them in the sink, watching them shrivel up and burn into a pile of a ash. Jondy slides down and sits with her back to the fridge, on the floor, twisting Tinga's ribbon around her fingers. It's Zack, coming out of Jondy's room with her bag, who scrapes the ashes out of the sink and flushes them down the toilet. Who rinses the sink out. Who motions for Jondy to follow him out of the fire escape.  
  
And then, together, they leave New York City. Almost all the traffic is headed into the city for the new day. Jondy sits cross legged in the passengers seat, twisting Tinga's ribbon around her fingers.  
  
"Lydecker caught on there was an X5 in the city. He's about five hours behind us," Zack said, breaking the silence.  
  
Jondy nods slowly. "It's okay. Where am I going?"  
  
Zack wants to reach out and tell her she's not going anywhere. He's taking her to Canada for awhile, and then they'll stay together. He hates leaving her alone. He likes to believe it's because of Max's death beneath the ice. But he knows it's something about her. Something about being on the Outside has changed both of them and it's made them closer, yet further apart. He wants to make sure she doesn't get hurt.  
  
"Chicago." 


	5. Prism

AN: Thank you, Rose for reviewing my fic. Your reviews totally make my day. I have taken the Manti-Kids tests and I ended up   
  
being Syl last time I took it.   
  
I hope everyone enjoys this chapter, cause I enjoyed writing it. I hope to have the nest two chapters done this week, because I go back to school the week after. Evil. Anyway, on with the fic!  
  
(Don't forget. Reviews make me all glowy inside.)  
  
---  
  
July 14th 2014  
  
---  
  
Heat.   
  
It makes your skin crawl. Beads of sweat trickling down her arms and legs and torso. The urge to throw up, because you're so, so hot and your stomach is rebelling against the last meal you ate.  
  
It's about waking up in the middle of the night, your eyes wide and your breathing shallow. About some alter ego taking you over, so you can see and feel and taste, but you can't control your actions.  
  
That feeling, urge, desire, in the base of your stomach, for something. Men. That glint in your eyes. The fact you don't feel like it's you; more like something you're watching.  
  
Pulling on whatever clothes are lying on the floor, not caring how small, or dirty or impractical they are. You only bother with them because you can't afford to be arrested for indecent exposure.   
  
Standing on a street corner like a common prostitute; but you're not even that good – at least prostitute get payed for sexual favours. You're begging at any man who crosses your path.  
  
About the tears you know will come when it's all over, and there's a strange man in your bed.  
  
Jondy knows that. Jondy knows it all.  
  
But it's ten times worse this time. The summer heat was the worst Chicago had seen in ten years. Jondy lay in bed, the sweat running down her face, her hands shaking with the desire, the complete need…  
  
It's too much for her. She's wearing a tiny blue nightshirt and her dark hair is encircling her face, fluffy with sweat. She's barefoot and wide eyed and the pheromones are too much…  
  
Jondy wants to convince herself that the only reason so many men proposition her is because of the pheromones. A chemical reaction. No other reason.  
  
No. These men are perverts, criminals in training. They see fourteen year old Jondy begging for it on a street corner, her slim body still mostly child-like in build, with slight curves visible under her nightshirt.   
  
She ends up in the arms of a thirty year old man, with a wife and children at home. Jondy hates this, hates that she's the reason for another broken family.  
  
It's late afternoon when Jondy wakes up from a coma like sleep. She instantly regrets waking up. Her body aches with an infinite tiredness, a never ending pain. Another heat cycle. Another man.  
  
He lies asleep, his back to her. She wants to reach out and break his neck. Not for her; no, for her and her sisters and every other girl this man, and the other men like him, who have taken advantage of. She hates him on principle, for what he symbolises.   
  
She crawls out of bed, pulling on her blue nightdress over her head. She feels like a junkie coming off crack cocaine. She stumbles into the bathroom, slamming the door and locking it. Locking that man, her problems, the reality, out.  
  
Her skin crawls, the droplets of sweat on her body feeling like hundreds of insects crawling around.  
  
She takes some tryptophan, but the seizure still comes. She curls up on the porcelain tiles, her eyes fixed on a point somewhere in front of her. She's nothing but a slut; a whore. She's only fourteen years old and she's already been with four different men. It doesn't feel right, it makes her feel sick to her stomach. Fourteen year old girls aren't meant to feel like this. She's nothing but a freak.  
  
The man wakes up, yelling out for her. With energy and anger she didn't know she had, Jondy screams for him to get the hell out, to leave her the hell alone. He yells back, calling her names, blaming her for it, for every affair he's had since he got married.   
  
It's too much for Jondy. Seizures rack her body, her limbs flailing wildly. One, two, five, nine, twenty tryptophan are jammed into her mouth, the shaking so bad she can't swallow. So bad. So, so bad.   
  
Jondy doesn't know when the seizure finishes. She might have been there for a day, a week… she doesn't know.  
  
And no body is there to help her. She's alone, on the bathroom floor. She climbs to her feet, staring in the mirror. Her eyes all blood shot, her face pale, dark circles around her eyes. She looks skinny and not human. She's sick of always being alone. No matter what he says, Zack always leaves her behind. He promises he'll stay longer, but he always leaves. Doesn't even hug her.  
  
What's the point of staying on the Outside like this? Always hiding in apartments, not being able to go outside because of Manticore, and not being about to go out at night because of the Ordinaries.  
  
Her hand shoots out in a fit of temper and the bathroom mirror shatters, shards of the glass flying around the bathroom. She instinctively covers her face, but one of the shards embedded itself in her upper arm.  
  
Jondy just sits down, her back against the wall, watching the morning sunlight hit the broken glass . Blood runs down her arm and she just wants out. She's sick of the seizures that sometimes don't stop for days at a time. She's sick of the heat cycles that make her seek out the men on the street. She's sick of being so scared all the time, of not being able to spend time with Zack. Or not knowing all the nursery rhymes and the fairy tales every normal girl grew up with.  
  
Jondy wants Max back.  
  
But Max is dead. Frozen to death. Or maybe the soldiers found her and shot her.   
  
Zack hasn't been to see Jondy in a long time. Since before Christmas. He feels guilty for leaving her alone, after he told her they could stay together. He knows he has to stop making promises to her. He always ends up breaking them.  
  
He opens her apartment door; it's unlocked and not latched properly which concerns him. Jondy isn't careless enough to leave a door unlocked when she is home, let alone when she went out. Maybe someone had robbed her place.   
  
Windows are open all over the apartment, for the heat, Zack guesses. The bed is stripped bare and Jondy is no where to be seen.   
  
"Jondy?" Zack calls out. Jondy is a teenage girl. He needs to be more careful around her. "Jondy, are you home?"  
  
Bedroom, kitchen, living room are all empty. But the bathroom door is locked shut.  
  
"Jondy?" Zack yells. Something, an old niggling worry comes back to the surface. A paranoid concern he's always had.   
  
With a sharp kick, the door splinters away from the lock and Jondy's in the far corner, curled up. There's some sort of glass all over the floor and Zack can see dribbles of blood all over the bathroom tiles. Jondy's crying silently.  
  
The scarlet blood makes Zack's whole being freeze in fear, in terror, in fear for Jondy. In his darkest moments, Zack can picture each of his siblings lying dead. And this terrifies him; that somewhere, deep in the back of his mind, Zack has already given up on the X5s.  
  
"Jondy," Zack's beside her in a second and he crushes her into a hug. Jondy wraps her arms around her neck, burying her face into his leather jacket, sobbing huge wracking sobs that shook her body. She clings to him like she used to cling to Zane, to Max.  
  
Zack knows how to deal with anger, with heat, with fear. But he never quite knows what to do about tears. He can hold Jondy tightly, but he's never had Tinga's knack at saying the right thing at the right time.  
  
"I'm sorry Zack," Jondy manages, between sobs. "I'm sorry."  
  
He begins stroking her dark, tangled hair, cradling her body against his. "What's wrong Jon? What happened?"  
  
"Nothing. Everything," Jondy said, her sobs slowly calming down. "I just…"  
  
Zack pulls back slowly, holding Jondy's injured arm gently. It still oozes blood.  
  
"I'll need to stitch that up," Zack says slowly. "I'll go down to the drug store to get some suturing thread. Will you be okay here by yourself?"  
  
Jondy nods and stands up. "I-I guess I'll clean this up," she says slowly, wiping her eyes with the edge of her nightdress.  
  
Two hours later and Jondy's arm is stitched up with black suturing thread, a white bandage covering them. The bathroom is now clear of blood smears and shatter glass. Jondy's hair is scraped back into a braid and she silently eats the Chinese food Zack brought with him. They both focus on the television, avoiding the conversation that will ultimately lead to awkward silence.  
  
"Jondy," Zack says, after a little while.  
  
"Zack," Jondy repeats, in exactly the same tone.  
  
"What happened?" Zack asked.  
  
She doesn't look at him. "Just … I went into heat and I had seizures and I just broke or something. I'm okay now."  
  
"What about later?" Zack said, resting his hand on her shoulder. "You know I can't stay." He hates to think of what would have happened to Jondy if he hadn't turned up. It was like all of his worries coming true at once.  
  
"Later is later," Jondy laid back against Zack, her eyes still focused on the television. Parallel processing. "When it happens, you can help me."  
  
The edge in her voice signifies the end of the conversation. As Zack relaxes, watching the television show again, he realises that there's an easiness between them now. Like maybe they were a normal brother and sister.   
  
And he wonders if they'll ever be able to recreate this moment in a different month, a different year, a different city, state, country. If she'll readily talk to him, so trusting, for her whole like. If it'll always be him, Zack, and her, Jondy.  
  
But, Zack reminds himself, Jondy's right. That's later. He'll worry about that when it happens.  
  
---  
  
If you would like to see Esperarle-Jondy and Zack in Esperarle's cover art, please visit http://www.twisted-logic.com/fanart/esperarle.gif. :) 


	6. Run

AN: I apologise tis took so long, I had really shocking writer's block after seeing The Matrix Revolutions. And exams. And my birthday. So, I'm back and I hope you enjoy this chapter.  
  
Dedicated to Rose for being so awesome. You write a kick-ass Syl and Krit fic, girl and are so damn nice to me. And Piss Off 2 will be here soon.  
  
- - - August 15th 2015 - - -  
  
It wasn't Chicago anymore. Lydecker caught up with her in Chicago and pulled a gun on her, scared she would've killed her. He pulled a gun on Eva too, without asking questions. It was the memory of Eva collapsing on the warped linoleum floor. Eva, who was always so stoic, so serious and blank. She was scared like the rest of them, but she never showed it.  
  
It was Eva who got Jondy out of Chicago. Jondy remembers screaming like the girls in the black and white movies, remembers the men who came out of the bar on the corner, who held Lydecker back as she ran as fast as her legs could carry her.  
  
And she only stopped when she was twenty one blocks away, hunched behind a garbage can in a back alley somewhere, her arms wrapped around her knees, breathing shallowly so no one could ever find her.  
  
And minutes melted into hours and all she remembers thinking about is Tinga's ribbon back at her apartment. She wants to get up and slip back there and grab those few meager possessions that actually meant something to her. The worn dollar bill she uses as a bookmark, that Zack gave her last time he saw her to buy herself some chocolate. The ribbon. A copy of an old book from the library back in New York. All in a brown paper bag back at her second rate home.  
  
As much as her mind demands she go back there and rescue those things but something froze her to the spot. Maybe the feeling of the cold steel of the gun against her head. Maybe the sight of Lydecker after six unforgiving years. But whatever it was, it kept Jondy sitting on the concrete, letting the damp seep through her jeans.  
  
Chicago never did have a good reputation anyway.  
  
Boston. It sounded solid to Jondy. Solid and dependable. Los Angeles sounds flighty, Las Vegas sounds exotic and tempting and New York City sounds expansive, grand and just there. Boston sounds reliable and steady and controlled. Like pie.  
  
Jondy sits back, her brown hair fluttering in the breeze. A boy sits next to her, his arm around her shoulders. She doesn't recognize herself now. She's not New York Jondy. She's Boston Jondy; no matter what she does, how wild she can get, Boston will stand strong.  
  
Her hair is in a high ponytail and she's wearing tight black pants and a blood red top with a plunging neckline Jondy knows Zack will hate. And her combat boots.  
  
"Cover yourself up, soldier!"  
  
She can hear him in her head every time this boy; the boy she's meant to be dating, yet she can never remember his name; slips his hand up her top. That reminds her of heat, how the men can't stay away from the pheromones. She doesn't like heat.  
  
Jondy sits forward, pulling herself away from the boy. How did she get here? She got scared. Chicago. That's what brought her here. She didn't hang around to wait for Zack. She just fled, like any good little soldier would. It might've been months before Zack returned for Jondy and Jondy knows she can't outrun Lydecker.  
  
She stands up, slipping into the alley way - away from the cigarette smoke and cheap beer. She thinks about killing Lydecker too much. He's just an old man who drinks too much. But he's not like them. She knows that the X5s aren't meant to be human; just killing machines. But instead of creating killing machines, he turned into one. Ironic.  
  
But then, teaching children the 'right' way to commit murder must screw with your mind. It still screws with Jondy. She's at this party with alcohol and drugs because he caught up with her. Why was she here? She didn't remember. It was a place to be. She could be a different girl. A girl that Lydecker wouldn't track down.  
  
She stands in the alley a long time, knowing no one inside will miss her. They aren't people she knows or trusts. They don't know what a real gun looks like, or how heavy they are. These kids sit here, and smoke and drink and pretend to be bitter.  
  
Jondy's not even fifteen yet. Almost. Still fourteen. She sits with these teenagers who curse a terrorist attack they don't remember, hate people they don't know and wish for a life they've never known and never will. She honestly doesn't know how to be bitter. She's only been alive fourteen years and nine months. She can hate Manticore and be scared of Lydecker and wish the Pulse had never happened, but really, she's too young.  
  
She read a story once. On the computer in New York. All the librarians and teachers are happy to talk about how wonderful the internet used to be. How you could read stories, play games. now, most of it is empty. Grey space. A couple of pages and Jondy found an old forgotten story. About after a war. About, how even after the war was over, no one was happy.  
  
Was that how it would be for the X5s? Their personal war against America, against the people who were meant to give them their freedom were really the people who Jondy is hiding from in the alley. Would they really be happy after knowing Manticore?  
  
Jondy doesn't understand how she feels about Manticore. She has nightmares, yes. But what made her run? It wasn't Max's seizures, no, Jondy isn't that noble, isn't that brave. It wasn't Zack's order. Jondy isn't that good of a soldier.  
  
And as much as it pains her to admit it, it wasn't Eva either. What made her run? What made her scared?  
  
Jondy's lost in her own thoughts before she hears the cops and the sirens. But not just cops either. Soldiers. With tasers. And Lydecker, holding a clipboard. And he sees her.  
  
And she can feel the steel of the barrel of the gun hard against her head, a ghost pain. Before Lydecker can yell an order or even form a coherent thought, she's running. So far, none of the complicated murder techniques have helped her. Running has. Retreating.  
  
The back alleys of Boston aren't easy to navigate and Jondy's almost panicking. She can hear the soldiers following her at an almost alarming speed for Ordinaries. She double backs and crouches behind a dumpster, praying to whatever power still exists in the United States of America that Colonel Lydecker won't find her.  
  
And then, the hands clamp around her mouth. And her heart almost stops. She forgets to breathe. He found her. He has her. There's no gun this time and Jondy wishes there was. She would rather be a dead body then back at Manticore.  
  
She can feel the hysteria rise in her throat and she wants to scream as loud as she can, to kill Lydecker and run.  
  
"Jon."  
  
The hands gently pull her back into a hug. A tight, desperate hug. And Jondy faintly recognizes who is holding her so tightly.  
  
"Zack."  
  
His face is buried in her hair and he holds her so tightly  
  
He spent three days in Chicago, trying to find her. Got arrested once. She had just vanished. He trailed after Lydecker's team for awhile.  
  
He'd been preparing himself everyday for almost eighteen years, practically since he was born, to confront the dead body of one of his siblings and just not care.  
  
He wasn't sure when things changed. When he started caring so damn much. He may not have much hope for the future, but he wanted all of them to have the best now. Seeing Eva die hit him hard, and then losing Max under the ice. he cared too much.  
  
He wasn't in Boston for Jondy. He was in Boston for one of the others; seeing if Boston was safe enough. Then Lydecker turned up. And every instinct told him to get the hell out of the state.  
  
Zack drags Jondy out from behind the dumpster and for a second, it's like the old days, the old stealth games they used to play. Except Zack would be Zack and Jondy would be Max.  
  
They run. Not Jondy's panicked fleeing. Planned running, to cover as much ground in the shortest amount of time.  
  
He takes her to a motel buried deep in the city. Jondy's silent as she sits on the bed, playing with her hair.  
  
"I thought you'd lost me," she said softly.  
  
So did he. Only an hour ago, seeing the soldiers racing through back alleys of Boston, he knew. Something. He knew something. He knew if he didn't find Jondy first, she was just a distant memory. He knew, if Lydecker got to her, he'd never see Jondy again.  
  
He knows that he's feeling too much for Jondy. He wants to offer her something, to say sorry for not checking up on her in Chicago sooner, for losing her between Chicago and Boston.  
  
"Lydecker thought you were Max." He sounds too harsh, regretting the words as soon as he says them. Accusing, almost.  
  
Jondy looks up at him, her eyes wide.  
  
"Max?"  
  
"Max."  
  
And she's laughing, her face is smiling and her arms are around her neck. Two Zack-hugs in one night, it must be a record. Her face is buried in the shoulder of his jacket.  
  
"She's alive! She's out!" Jondy grins up at Zack. "Have you see her?"  
  
Has he seen her? No. No, he hasn't. In fact, he only has a snippet of conversation to go on. What if Max's corpse is still at the bottom of that river? What if she's dead and they never found the body, so Manticore just thinks she escaped? What if.?  
  
Telling Jondy was a security risk. And if Max does end up being dead, it'd kill her. He shouldn't have said anything..  
  
"She's okay, Zack," Jondy replies with a smile that reminds him why he told her in the first place. "I know it. We're all okay."  
  
Zack looks at her. He's the CO, no one thanks him for saving their asses. And she just did. Vaguely enough not to hurt his pride.  
  
"You are," Zack says gruffly, reaching out and touching her hair, the closest he'll admit to caring about them more than a CO should. His sentiment is rewarded with another shining smile.  
  
And later, as Jondy and Zack eat pizza and watch television, Jondy remembers the war story. About the soldiers who weren't happy after the war was one. Maybe it wasn't a war. Maybe it was a battle. And they lost their Max. Or their Zack.  
  
"It's going to be different for us," Jondy says softly. And even thought Zack hasn't read the story; or even seen the movie, he knows what she means.  
  
"It will be."  
  
But Jondy doesn't remember how she got here. Zack makes a snarky comments about drugs and alcohol, but it's not that. Jondy doesn't drink.  
  
As they lay in bed together; sharing the double bed, Jondy rolls over and looks at Zack, his eyes closed. Un Zack like.  
  
"Why are we scared of Manticore?" she asks softly.  
  
But Zack's already asleep.  
  
- - -  
  
Woohoo! Done Chapter 6. The war story referred to in this chapter is a fic, but it isn't even a Dark Angel fic. It was written by KM and one of the singularly most awesome Matrix fics ever written. If you would like the URL, please email me. 


	7. Longest Night

AN: More apologies for the time between updates. I no longer have a phone line at home and have to go to an internet café or my grandmother's to upload stuff. For anyone interested, all my fic 'babbles' including the first few chapters of Piss Off 2 can be found at  
  
I hope you enjoy this chapter.  
  
--- August 16th 2015 ---  
  
Bad things come in threes. Zack knows this but he deals with bad things every day and lost count somewhere along the line. If he had been with Brin, Brin would've reminded Zack that karma will come back and bite him on the ass. If he had been with Tinga, she'd be worrying about him not wearing a seatbelt or crossing the road when the traffic lights were red.  
  
Jondy's not like that. She lets things flow over her with that sweet smile and those blue eyes that he remembers from when he was small; not matter how hard he tries, Zack cannot get the image of Jondy's eyes out of his head.  
  
He drags her out of bed before the sun rises. She's asleep then; when Jondy does sleep, she sleeps deeply. She doesn't want to flee Boston before the sun, before Lydecker can find them.  
  
He found her clothes before they left. She wears them now, a thick red sweater, jeans two sizes two big and a black baseball cap. The clothes she was wearing when he found her, terrified in that alley, are soaking in the hotel bathtub, so that no dogs can sniff them out, so that no DNA can be found and so that Zack doesn't have any reminders of Jondy wearing that top.  
  
She's playing with the CD player in Zack's car, flipping switches and pressing buttons. Can't sit still.  
  
There aren't any word spoken between them until they're half a day away, and sitting together in a cheap diner, drinking luke warm cups of coffee.  
  
"Where to next?" Jondy asks slowly, twisting her coffee mug around slowly.  
  
Zack picks up a sachet of sugar, flipping it back and forth. He hasn't thought that far ahead, really. She's been to New York, Chicago and Boston. Zack drops the unopened sachet of sugar and studies Jondy carefully, for the first time since New York.  
  
She's slim and tall, with the wavy brown hair in a ponytail and fading freckles on her nose. Long black eyelashes and golden skin with those damn blue eyes that remind him of her and make him forget Max for a second or two.  
  
And there's a vague shock when his eyes slide below her neck. Zack remembers how well Jondy filled out that top, how the fabric of the sweater pulls tighter around her chest. Jondy's going to be beautiful when she grows up, Zack knows this. Tinga was awkward and gangly as a teenager and she grew up to be beautiful. And Tinga went and got married, and had the baby. Case.  
  
Zack can't imagine that for Jondy. He can't picture her in the elaborate white dress, promising to stand by a normal man and having children. Zack knows it's a bitter thought, but Jondy couldn't even stand by Max during the escape. It's all about that deeply ingrained fear; fear made Jondy leave Max behind and fear will keep Jondy from knowing what Tinga refers to jokingly as 'domestic bliss'.  
  
"Las Vegas," Zack says finally. Plenty of work in Vegas. It's not cold or wet and maybe Jondy can try to go to school there.  
  
"Vegas," Jondy says with a grin, sipping her coffee.  
  
Zane liked Las Vegas when he was there. Zack pulled Zane out of Vegas before his gambling and call girl habits got out of hand. Zack blinks and looks at Jondy again, noting the similarities between Jondy and Zane; their hair, their noses, their builds. Zane's got grey eyes. Grey eyes and Ben's grin.  
  
They eat their greasy meals silently, Jondy watching Zack carefully. He eats his burger and drinks two cups of black coffee, fiddling with sugar sachets but not opening them. He's lost in thought himself, and it's not until Jondy has slipped off to the bathroom, he comes back down to earth.  
  
It's a long drive to Vegas, and it's punctuated by the static of the radio; no one can afford to keep something as mundane as a country radio station running; the cities and big towns have half decent radio stations, but they don't transmit very far. Post Pulse, everything is about money.  
  
It gets dark quickly, and it begins to rain. Jondy leans lazily back in her seat, twisting a lock of hair around her fingers.  
  
"I used to hate the rain," she says slowly, looking at him. Zack takes his eyes off the road long enough to look at Jondy's face, the shadows playing across her face, her eyes almost glowing as some light catches them. "We used to have to train in the rain. Remember the mud?"  
  
Zack surprises them both by laughing. "I remember the first time we trained in the rain. Twenty five of us - you were three and I was seven. And you and Max. you came in, looking like you'd been swimming in mud."  
  
Jondy laughs, reaching forward to change the radio station. "I ."  
  
Zack doesn't hear what Jondy was saying. He could look back days later and he couldn't really remember what happened. Two lights flashed in front of him and there were cars behind him and in front of him. Zack remembers hearing Jondy scream, and turning to face her. Seeing her hands in front of her, shielding herself against whatever was coming.  
  
Lights explode in front of his eyes and there's nothing for awhile. Just his siblings voices echoing and guns shots and Manticore alarms. Slowly, his siblings voices turn into the voices of strangers, the alarms are the paramedics and police in the distance. No one else would hear them yet.  
  
As Zack sits up, at least a dozen strangers descend on him. "Are you okay? Are you okay?" Their voices sound like they're coming from a distance, and he shoves them away, looking for Jondy, only barely registering the accident. A drunken truck driver. Twelve cars involved in the accident.  
  
There's a woman in front of him. She's middle aged and there's a cut oozing blood over her eye. "Sir, you should sit down. You've been in a very serious accident."  
  
Zack keeps walking, looking around for his car. For Jondy.  
  
"Sir, please," the woman grabs Zack's arm. "We had to pull you out of your car. you're injuries are very serious. The paramedics will be here soon."  
  
"Where's my car?" Zack demands. "Where's my god-damned sister?"  
  
The woman nods, looking behind her. Zack hasn't got the time for the likes of her. In this woman's cookie cutter world, this will be the worst day of her life, requiring hours and hours of counselling to recover from. For Zack, it's just another long night.  
  
The woman says nothing and slips away. Leaving Zack staring at his car.  
  
It's makes him stop cold. It was once a blue Jeep. Now, it's sitting a short distance from the over turned truck. It's scraped up so badly, there's more chrome visible than blue paint. The windows are broken and two of the doors are missing. The front is dented in and the roof is one long, deep, curved dent. It's more what's inside that bothers him.  
  
Jondy's slumped forwards, through what should've been the windscreen. Her head is on it's side, eyes closed and hair falling in her face. Her head is leaning against an out stretched arm, which is covered with a crisscross of scratches.  
  
He's by her side in a second, attempting to pull her free of the car, cradling her body in arms. They've never had this much bodily contact, ever, and for a second Zack looks into Jondy's pale, blood stained face.  
  
Zack lies her on the road beside the car, kneeling over her, stroking her hair gently. He's never come this close to losing one of his siblings like this before. There's been scares of capture almost every day before this, but he's never had to look at one of his sisters like this.  
  
Zack peels off her sweater, finding a wound on the left side of Jondy's torso. Shards of glass are embedded in it, glinting up at Zack, almost mocking him. And the sirens are coming closer.  
  
Zack knows that he can't let the paramedics take Jondy. Lydecker is less than a day behind them and hospital is like a death wish. Zack's patched up his siblings before and he's not letting Jondy go.  
  
He pushes her hair off her face and manages to get Jondy sitting up. He repeats her name over and over again, trying to get a reaction out of her. Time crawls, every second pounding in Zack's mind.  
  
His mind is playing tricks on him. are her lips really turning blue?  
  
Finally, after time has lost all meaning to Zack and the lights of the paramedics are coming closer, Jondy lets out a shuddering sigh and her eyes flicker before opening. And she's awake. Pale, barely conscious, but back with him.  
  
"We've got to get out of here," Zack says softly, helping Jondy stand. She nods slowly, grasping his arm as she regains her balance. And within seconds, Zack has hotwired a car and Jondy slides into the passenger seat, holding her head gingerly.  
  
It's hours later, when the adrenaline stops pumping and they're curled up next to each other in a dusty hotel bed, that Zack lets himself grieve for what could've happened, what almost happened. They're both banged up; Zack's shoulder is swollen a plum colour; Jondy had to dig out the glass shards before they went to bed. Jondy's torso wound is patched up and she's sleeping heavily.  
  
And Zack wraps his arm around Jondy's shoulders before closing his eyes. Jondy's here. Alive. And as Zack dozes off to sleep for a few hours, he realises tonight wasn't a long night - it was the longest night. 


	8. Jolie

AN: My deepest apologies for the length of time it took me to upload this. I blame it on serious writer's block. Love to the usually suspects and all my lovely reviewers. My AN isn't particularly articulate tonight because it's 1 a.m. So, yeah. I love all who read and review.  
  
----  
  
May 17th 2016  
  
Jondy sites at the bar, twisting a paper straw in her cocktail glass of something. She ordered it, yet has no idea exactly what's in it. It's probably too strong for her anyway.  
  
Her dark hair is twisted up, resting on the nape of her neck, covering the dark vertical lines of her barcode. Her attire is something she's never really consider, but it was what was required by her 'job'; low cut red dress that stretches tightly across her skinny body and pushed her relatively minor cleavage up into something she might have been proud of in different circumstances. Sheer black tights and obscenely high black heels complete her look. Stripper chic, if there was such a thing.  
  
She straightens, tempted to take a sip of the drink in front of her; she got one free drink a night. Usually she can talk the bartender into giving her a bottle of Corona; decent beer was hard to come by and bottled beer was expensive, not something she'd pick if she was paying.  
  
"You gonna drink that, Jol?" The bartender grunts, scrubbing at the bar with a filthy rag, leaving a greasy sheen on the polished surface.  
  
Jol. Short for Jolene, a name she picked quickly randomly off the cover of a magazine. But the second she set foot in the bar, it had been changed to 'Jolie'; exotic, cute and somehow it fit her. Most of her names so far have felt too big, something to grow into. But her stage name feels about right. Maybe spending her nights in this bar, peeling off her clothes for men has changed her sense of self. Or maybe she's just tired.  
  
It means 'beautiful' in French. But she never feels beautiful when she uses it. She feels tired and old, mostly. It's not 'beautiful' work.  
  
"Yes," she says primly, almost sounding her age. "Give me time." Time, time, who had time anymore? It was one am, closed early on Thursdays. Las Vegas had implemented a curfew - to save money, power, time. Usually Jondy has to stumble round until four am, having slimy old men stuff dollar bills down her top, have beer spilt on her and maybe, if she's lucky, be vomited on. Jondy likes Thursdays.  
  
Except, when she finally ventures out in daylight hours today, her rent is due and she's short a hundred. She lives with her co-workers in a large house on the edge of the city. It's done in red and black, and it's not uncommon to see rats and cockroaches in their beds. There's only cold water, and only enough for three showers a week. The electricity runs off a moody generator and the whole house leaks when it rains.  
  
Jondy stares blankly at the drink in front of her. Home is no place to go; last week, she was the one who found Sara slumped on the stair case, overdosed. And the month before, Kelly found Amber. She'd hung herself with the electrical cord from the toaster.  
  
They ate bread for breakfast for the two weeks after that.  
  
Jondy picks up her drink, spinning around to face the room. Dark, polished wood with vinyl booths around the edge and silver chairs and tables cluttered in one section. The bar is in an 'S' shape, with one end working as a 'stage' for some of the girls. It was old; the vinyl seats were torn and patched. Greasy, grimy... it might've been a nice place once upon a time.  
  
The bartender shuffles over to where Jondy is sitting, and stares at her for awhile. "You gonna drink that?" he grunts at her again.  
  
Jondy shakes her head, placing the glass back on the bar, wiping her hands on her skirt. "I better go," she says softly, standing up, taking a millisecond to regain her balance on her shoes.  
  
In a swift move, the bartender slams a bottle of beer in front of her, and gets back to wiping the bar.  
  
Jondy smiles to herself and walks back into the dressing room, holding the beer bottle by its neck. It's warm; the cold beers are kept for the paying customers. But when she's lying in bed tonight, in the leaky house, with the girls who kill them selves and rats, the alcohol will block it all out. Rats or Manticore. In all it's institutional cleanliness, Manticore paints far an uglier picture than the strip club and the rats of the boarding house.  
  
She slips out the back of the bar, down the stairs, her shoes clanking on the steel steps. The 'dressing rooms' are three grimy rooms with a sink, a small mirror covered in filth and five garment hooks. The floors are concrete and, because this is the basement, there are no windows. There is a still coolness down here, and the faint whiff of perfume and cigarette smoke.  
  
Most of the other girls either go home with clients or return to the boarding house the second their shift is over. Sometimes some of them stay and drink away a week's wages in a few hours.  
  
Jondy reaches for her bag; her jeans and sweater crammed hastily in there when she changed earlier. She undoes her hair and reaches for her hair brush. Her hand meets the brush and a piece of paper crumpled in her bag.  
  
She smoothes the paper out and recognizes the handwriting of one of the other girls. She's borrowed her jeans because a client tore her dress.  
  
Jondy sighs and tosses the paper behind her, a small act of rebellion against the remarkable bareness of the room. She doesn't want to walk all the way across the city so late at night. Cops, sleazes, drug dealers... the list of people she doesn't want to, but will inevitably bump into.  
  
She brushes her hair out and pulls her sweater out of her bag, and pulls it on. It could be worse; the other girl could've taken the sweater as well.  
  
She slides her hairbrush and her bottle of beer into her bag and leaves the room. Out the door, into the alley way and out into the heavy Las Vegas air. Her heels make a very obvious clacking noise as she walks along the pavement, staring into the sky. The stars are bright, like normal. She's tempted to take off her heels but she doesn't want to walk about barefoot around the streets. She isn't completely certain how many diseases she was immune too and she didn't want to test her immunities now.  
  
She thinks about her siblings. Max would be at a private girls school. Syl would be on a soccer team. Zane would have a dog. Ben would play the piano. Zack...  
  
Jondy pauses for a second, staring up at the sky. Zack. What would he be doing, really? Alone, maybe, in a bar?  
  
She slips off her heels, finally. Her feet ache for a short time, but she walks faster and easier across town with them jammed in her bag. She'd like to work somewhere where she could wear sneakers and sweatpants all day. No more tight dresses, or men salivating like dogs. A real job.  
  
She reaches a pay phone and fumbles in her bag for some change. There's some quarters in the bottom, and a reassuring roll of twenties. As Jondy feeds the coins into the pay phone, she feels for the roll of twenties. It's slimmer than it was earlier. No doubt when her co-worker borrowed Jondy's jeans, she helped herself to some money, too.  
  
"Hey Zack... it's me. Jondy. Um, I'm still in Vegas. But you know, it's kinda getting old really fast," Jondy swallows and looks at her bare feet, the skirt of the dress which is tight around her legs. "I might hit the road. Move on somewhere else. Anyway, I just called... well, to see what you're doing."  
  
And Jondy replaces the receiver with a clunk, hoists her bag to her shoulder and looks up at the night sky. Maybe Zack's having fun somewhere.  
  
Zack sits in the dark motel room, not having bothered turning any of the lights on, sipping a beer. He knows he should eat something before he heads out again but he can't be damned. Brin needs moving, Krit needs discipline and Syl needs company. Time, time, whose got the time?  
  
Resting his beer on the night table, Zack picks up the phone and dials.  
  
"Hey Zack... it's me. Jondy. Um, I'm still in Vegas. But you know, it's kinda getting old really fast... I might hit the road. Move on somewhere else. Anyway, I just called... well, to see what you're doing."  
  
Zack sits very still, listening to Jondy's breathy message over and over again.  
  
"... I might hit the road. Move on somewhere else. Anyway, I just called... well, to see what you're doing."  
  
"Move on somewhere else. Anyway, I just called... well, to see what you're doing."  
  
"Anyway, I just called... well, to see what you're doing."  
  
"I just called... well, to see what you're doing."  
  
And he turns off the phone. 


	9. Independence

AN: I got stuck halfway through this. And then I got my second wind. We're slowly making our way closer to Zack-canon, so a lot more Zack centric chapters coming your way.  
  
Head over to my site (in my profile, I can't put links in the fics) to nominate your favourite X5 fics in The Barcode Awards  
  
Dedication: Girltype, for her kickass fic.  
  
--- December 3rd 2017 --- She's sitting in a hard plastic chair in the Memphis P.D. building, staring at the ground. Her dark hair is loose, with a baseball cap on backwards, and she's almost draped in jeans and a sweatshirt, she's so thin.  
  
Jondy doesn't stop focusing at a spot on the floor. An obscenely fat police officer had spent two hours verbally abusing her about her crime. Other criminals whistle at her, try to feel her up. The other police officers tried to get her to talk, to confess. To tell them how she did it.  
  
Why was she there? Jondy's smarter than to get caught selling narcotics on the street. She's got a perfectly forged gun license in her wallet  
  
And her crime?  
  
She tried to rob a bank.  
  
She's stone cold broke. Spent her last five dollars three days ago.  
  
And she should be able to do it, really. She was only after a few hundred. Pay off her landlord and maybe get some new parts for her new bike; a shiny red Ducatti she's been putting back together. She found it in the ditch near her apartment block and dragged it home and up six flights of stairs to stand it in her bathroom, and clean mud and rust from it everyday after work.  
  
But she got caught. Hurrying to get out of there.  
  
They hurled her in and told her how stupid she was. But as soon as they move away from her, they mutter about the security system, best one in Memphis, and how it hadn't been touched. How Jondy got in without anyone knowing. She'll be a legend from now on. A whispered rumor, maybe even an urban legend; the teenage girl who broke into the bank without anyone knowing.  
  
The fat police man is next to her, his face blank. "You've got one phone call, kid," he says grudgingly. For a fleeting second, she wonders if he has a teenage daughter, if he thinks she'll be able to call anyone who'll actually care. She picks up the phone slowly and dials the number slowly. Zack. The chance he'd check his voice mail; or be anywhere nearby was slim. He could be anywhere, and there was no way he'd make it to Memphis in time to save her. He had maybe four hours or she'd be placed in the jail.  
  
Jondy visibly shudders as she thinks about what will happen if they put her in jail. She's heard all the stories about what goes on in jails. The abuse, the rape, the murders, the 'bargaining'... The stories have been whispered to her in all the state schools she's been through. And no matter how many families go to the authorities, they turn them away. There's no money to clean up the jails. The criminals deserve what they get. Or, the worst... We'll do our best. Yes, those cops will stop taking bribes and work on their four dollars and twenty five cents an hour. Those cops will stop taking advantage of stoned teenage girls. Those cops won't exchange food and water for sex with a young mother. Those cops will go straight. Her fate lies in Zack's hands, like it has ever since she was born. Maybe some days it wasn't as obvious as others, but it was there.  
  
Jondy sits stiffly in that chair for so long, she thinks it's night time. She's starving and thirsty, and she's worried her seizures will kick in.  
  
A hand clamps down on her should and Jondy tenses some more, her heart rate speeding up. It's a cop whom hasn't accosted her yet, staring down at her, his gaze roams along her thin body. Jondy stands up slowly, crossing her arms across her chest, staring at the floor.  
  
The cop says nothing, shooting her another sleazy look, and motions for her to follow him. Weaving around more plastic chairs, desks, the lino makes a reassuring noise under her shoes. Not a loud noise but a reassuring noise none the less.  
  
The cop unlocks a huge steel door, and for just one second, Jondy fantasizes that Zack is waiting back there, ready to take her somewhere safe.  
  
No. No such luck. Luck doesn't exist anyway.  
  
A long row of steel cells, filled with one or two people. They seem to be in monotones to Jondy. Their hair looks lank, their eyes are wide and their skin is paper coloured. In her mind, these people haven't seen the sun in weeks. She feels all the colour drain from her body as the cop motions for her to step into an empty cell.  
  
She stand with her back to him for a moment; until she hears the cop retreat, and lock that big steel door, that separates the monotone criminals from the technicoloured cops.  
  
The cell has one long bunk with a single blanket. A bucket of water stands in the corner, and the whole room – full of twelve small cells – reeks of urine, cigarette smoke and vomit. Zack isn't going to come and get her this time. Her nine lives have all expired.  
  
She crouches in the front corner of the cell, staring at the scuffed concrete. Her hunger and thirst has past; the stench enough to make her gag.  
  
The other people are staring at her, she knows. Is she a drug addict? A prostitute? A petty thief? Or did she just refuse to perform sexual favors on the sector cops. One day in the future, maybe when they are trapped in a state prison, they would realize she had broken into the main bank in Memphis. And had almost gotten away with it.  
  
She doesn't know how long she was crouched there. But after a time, there was a loud click, and the light that filtered under the big steel door faded and left the place dark and still – more so than before. All of a sudden, it feels so, so cold and Jondy wants to cry. No, no, tears are for the weak.  
  
One of the other prisoners murmurs something at her, so quiet that it sounds more like a loud thought than something spoken. "Get some sleep. Please."  
  
And she sits gingerly on the cold bunk, slowly lying down, pulling her legs to her chest and closes her eyes. She's not crying. She's not. This isn't worse than Manticore. She manages some fitful sleep before climbing off of the bed and sitting on the cold concrete, watching everything carefully.  
  
She never knew how it felt. To have nothing left. This wasn't worse than Manticore, not even close. Manticore was living hell. But there was always that little bead of hope that Zack would be there to bail her out. It'd be all over the state she was here. Lydecker would be here for her within hours.  
  
All because she tried to rob a bank.  
  
Time passes by slowly and soon, the light filters back under the steel door and the lock clicks slowly. And a cop strides in, staring at each of the prisoners in turn. Jondy looks up at him, an idea slowly forming in her mind. It just means she'll never be able to return to Memphis. Ever.  
  
She stands up slowly, smiling angelically at the cop. The way she smiled at Zack when she wanted something. He focuses on her winning smile and sidles over to her, twirling the keys on his finger.  
  
He was too obvious.  
  
He leans forward, his nose almost touching the bars. "What's up, doll?"  
  
Doll. She had never been referred to as doll in her life, and never wanted to again.  
  
"What's it going to take for you to let me walk free?" she says softly.  
  
The cop gives her a shocked smirk and leans forward, whispering something foul in her ear. She doesn't even really hear his request, but she knows. Lurid suggestions have been thrown her way since her first heat cycle. She's learnt to ignore.  
  
She nods coyly, twisting her hair around her hair. The key slides in the lock and twists, and the cell door swings open, and he stares at her like a piece of meat...  
  
It takes a swift kick to the stomach and a punch in the face to knock him out cold. He slumps on the floor of her cell, a thin trickle of blood trailing from his eyes. She slams the cell door shut, almost relishing the loud noise as the latch locks. She picks up the keys, tossing them towards the shouting inmates, hissing at them not to move until they count to five hundred.  
  
And she's gone. She slips through the department, her head up, meeting the gaze of anyone who looks at her. She's almost there. She just needs to get out of the state before Lydecker catches wind of her escape.  
  
It's a quick jog to her apartment on the edge of the city. There's a small amount of pride she's mulling over. She got herself out, on her own terms. Almost like her own private declaration of independence.  
  
There's someone waiting for her when she makes it back to her apartment block. Zack's leaning against his motorcycle, holding a bag of her things, looking harassed.  
  
"Where the hell have you been?" he snaps as she moves forward, throwing her arms around his neck. He takes a step back in shock, but wraps his arms around her waist. No matter about her private independence. Zack's here, and she's safe and no amount of personal escapes can equal that.  
  
"In jail. I robbed a bank."  
  
--- Review and make my day. 


	10. Too Good

AN: To Jaz who will help me rid the world of girls who get to sit in Kyan's lap, Kate Spade handbags, Ipods, Ibooks and who will go to Italy with me. And for waiting for me to write this.  
  
School holidays prevented me from doing anything useful. Including updates. Sorry guys!  
  
--- April 19th 2018 ----  
  
She stands at the bar, watching the cliental wander around, sipping at the overpriced alcoholic beverages. She feels like a ghost here; something ignored until they want something. She may dole out the booze, slip the money down the top, tuck it away in her bra, where do guy dared to reach for fear of being kicked out. She is not the god of this place. She, like the other bartenders, are ghosts. They have no substance unless the patrons chose to give them it.  
  
Maybe the bouncers were the gods in some other world. Choosing who came in and who stayed out, throwing out the people who unsettled the atmosphere in the bar. Not anymore. The bouncers were only there to protect the bartenders from any attacks, from any over flirtatious male. To enforce the cut off limit.  
  
No, it's the patrons who rule this place. Maybe they don't know it. The owner can hope that the patrons believe the power is in the bartenders, guarding the expensive glass bottles, or the bouncers, guarding them all. No such luck.  
  
An average looking guy steps up to the bar, all smiles. Jondy automatically smiles back; a coy, come-hither look she barely realizes she's making. He slides the money across the bar, gaze transfixed on her. Brown hair curling around her face, eyes heavily outlined, lips shiny with pink gloss. Her fingers slide across the bar, grasp the money, smiling at the order, slides the money back to her, smoothes the bills out and folds it, sliding into her bra, watching the guy's graze settle upon her chest, his eyes bulging in his head as she pulls the neckline of her top down enough for his imagination to run wild.  
  
She knows how to tempt them, she goes through motions she doesn't remember learning. Sex, sex, sex. That's what it's about. Looking for that other half, the partner. The mate, even though she hates that word. She's not an animal, she's above that. It's taken her awhile to realize this, but she knows now. She's a girl – a woman, actually. Well, practically. She'll turn eighteen sometime this year. She's looking for a man, he'll be her boyfriend and then... what? Marriage? No, she can't do that. Trap herself. She can't have children, bringing helpless, vulnerable individuals into a world.  
  
She hands the guy a pitcher full of beer and smiles prettily as he turns and stumbles back to the table, sloshing the beer down his shirt as he turns and looks back at her.  
  
Another bartender sidles over to her. It's Emily, with curling red hair and a cute smile. "He's cute, Jo, you two should hook up."  
  
All the girls know how picky Jondy is. In the beginning, they thought this meant she wouldn't touch the patrons. She wouldn't bother with the men who stumbled into the bar. No, that's not true. Jondy will take any loser who sidles up to her with the right words and slick moves. It's whether she'll go home with him again that really divides her from the others. Emily and the others fall in lust, giggling about James, Danny, Tim for days later.  
  
They'd call her a man-eater but she's just not. She doesn't know how she's different to a 'man-eater' but she's just not.  
  
Jondy laughs. "No, no. Go for it, Emily." She offers no explanation for why she doesn't go after him, but turns around to scrub at the greasy bar with a slimy cloth. It's a good job, really. There's money, sex, and sometimes free booze. It could be worse. It could be the strip club in Vegas, playing Jolene for the fat sweaty business men. She could be in prison, the teenage criminal. Or she could be back at Manticore. That makes her feel a little sick inside, so she manages to get herself a glass of water.  
  
She's stacking more glasses when he walks in. Tall, he is. His tan is so perfect, he looks like he was dipped in a vat of honey or caramel. His light brown hair, almost lighter than his tan, falls about his face, looking softer than anything Jondy's ever seen. He has green eyes and long eyelashes and a grin that makes Jondy look twice. Tight fitting jeans and a black sweater ... Jondy's thinking bad thoughts.  
  
He moves over to the bar, and maybe she leans on the bar so far that he can see down her top. He flirts harmlessly with her as he orders drinks for his 'posse', and by the time she's handing him the pitcher, she feels like she's tattooed 'take me' to her forehead.  
  
There's still four hours until the end of her shift. She serves the alcohol, spilling more than she can afford, watching the guy in the corner. A few looks shot his way and he gets the message. Jondy briefly wonders what it would be like to be turned down by a man. At seventeen, this is the first time in her life she's been blatant about going after guys. Before now, she's been scared of something she can't identify.  
  
Four hours crawls by and as she sling on her bag and starts down the street, she hears someone call out her name – Jo – and she turns around, crossing her arms over her chest.  
  
He's there, kissing her like she's been kissed a thousand times before. Fiery, urgent. Not romantic or particularly caring. She's just a Bar Girl to him, and he's just... a guy. No one else.  
  
They stumble back to her apartment, tugging at each others' clothes, stroking visible flesh. She can barely unlock the door before his lips are on hers, his arms pinning her body to his. Her satiny top is peeled off, and her jeans unzipped. She's standing in the lounge in threadbare underwear, flushed. He's wonderful and toned and she smirks at him as she approaches him. Kissing on the couch, tugging at the underwear. But she feels bare doing this in the lounge room, like people are watching. A few whispered words, and she tugs him towards her bedroom, where they fall onto the bed together, tangled limbs and whispered words.  
  
What's his name again? She thinks as he pulls at her bra. He didn't tell her. She winces – and not just because he keeps scratching her with her bra clasp.  
  
Just as the guy pulls off her bra, the bedroom light flicks on, and suddenly his body isn't a comfortable weight on top of her. He yells out and Jondy sits up, bracing herself with her hands. The guy is in the corner, his hands over his mouth, blood oozing from between his fingers.  
  
And there's Zack, standing over him, visibly furious. No, furious isn't the word. He's past it. Murderous rage. Jondy squeaks, yanking the bed sheet over her body, almost falling off the bed.  
  
Zack grabs the guy and half throws him out of the bedroom, yelling something Jondy can't understand but gets the drift of. She reaches over the back of the bed, for her bra, and tries to reclasp it. Put some clothes on. No luck, maybe the clasp is broken?  
  
"Cover yourself up, soldier!" Zack yells at her. Jondy feels almost tearful as her fingers fumble with her bra clasp. Zack strides over and for the first time in Jondy's life, she's scared.  
  
Zack's scared too. He's so angry, seeing that man clumsily grope his sister, his Jondy. Rip his throat and balls out, make sure that man never touches another woman in the careless, uncaring way he did Jondy.  
  
She'll get emotionally attached, if they'd gone through with it. She'll care and be vulnerable. Zack's convinced himself that. She'll get them all killed. And she's sitting on the bed, so slender and tiny, tears in her eyes, fear written across her face. She can't get her bra done up and he hates seeing her so upset. He hates that he made her cry.  
  
He wordlessly crouches beside her, and pushes her fingers away, doing her bra up for her carefully, so not to snag or scratch her skin. Angry red marks across her back show that they guy she brought home did not show the same courtesy.  
  
She ducks her head after that, and they listen as the man gathers his clothes and leaves, swearing the whole time. After a time, he stands up and goes to her wardrobe and pulls out a t shirt and boxers, setting them beside her. She looks up, embarrassment on her face as she shrugs into them.  
  
"You look cold," Zack says softly, resting his hand on her shoulder. "Nothing else."  
  
Jondy nods and stands up, looking tired. "I'm sorry."  
  
Zack shook his head. "Don't apologize to me. You would've been the one to regret it in the morning. I hate seeing this." His eyes look sad for a second. He's seen this with Tinga, Brin and Syl. They all did the men who were so ideal to look at and then cried on his shoulder the next morning. He wants to spare her of the pain they went through.  
  
Jondy shoves her hair from her eyes and smiles at him. "You look out for me too much. You're too good to me."  
  
Zack shrugs awkwardly. "It's my job." 


End file.
